


If Only In My Dreams

by rw_eaden



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Character Death, Depression, Dreamsharing, Fire, Hurt No Comfort, Nightmares, Other, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:08:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23096113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rw_eaden/pseuds/rw_eaden
Summary: Crowley still has nightmares about the bookshop fire. This time, Aziraphale shows up in one.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 70





	If Only In My Dreams

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Snow Angel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23080309) by [HolyCatsAndRabbits](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolyCatsAndRabbits/pseuds/HolyCatsAndRabbits). 



> This work is a remix of HolyCatsandRabbit's Snow Angel, which is a part of the ButterOmens... event? Challenge? Collective Fan Chaos Making? If you're unfamiliar with the idea, the explanation is [here](https://n0nb1narydemon.tumblr.com/post/611808756218707968). But basically, it's a "Draw This in Your Style" type event open to all types of fanworks and it is super cool! 
> 
> Please be advised, this is not a happy fic. Spoilers: I cried writing this. Please don't hate me.

His angel was gone. Crowley knew it outside on the street. He knew it inside the burning bookshop. He would know it for the rest of his life. 

He could sit there on his knees as the flames whipped around him, devouring every book, every hastily written reminder on spare scraps of paper, every cared for inch of the bookshop and every wine-soaked, laughter-filled, lovelorn memory with it. The heat blistered his skin, the tips of his hair singed, and Crowley could only hope that it would eventually overtake him, too. What was the point of leaving now? He’d been too late so save Aziraphale. Too late to pull him out of the blaze, too late to keep him from making a fatal mistake in the first place. He’d been alone, as he died. Was he frightened, when it happened? Did he know what was happening? Was he awake and aware? Had he been scared? Had he cried out, afraid of dying alone, hoping someone, hoping Crowley would show up in the nick of time like he always had? 

The thought of Aziraphale, alone and afraid, was worse than anything that could happen to Crowley. He’d lay there and let the flames consume him, burn him out like the ink on so many pages, not even a trace of what they were before. It wouldn’t be as bad as living without Aziraphale. Nothing could be. 

The air was hot, chocking and thick until it wasn’t. It was almost cool, as it hit his lungs. Was this what it was like to die in a fire? He’d heard once that people who die of hypothermia feel hot before they go, that they strip off all their clothes, their bodies so cold they feel overheated. Perhaps it worked in the opposite when a body got too hot. Around him, ash fell like snowflakes, gently dusting his hair and eyelashes, sticking to his lips and the wet tracks on his face. And then the ash melted, the air bracing in a way it wasn’t before until the flakes that fell and swirled around him were actually made of snow, sizzling as they evaporated in the air before there were enough to quench the flames. 

The smoke cleared, no longer thick and oppressive, but thin and whispy, a soft grey before it gave way to bright white light. There stood Aziraphale, a patient smile on his gentle lips, cloaked in white with wings that glimmered like dawn’s first light through icicles. 

“Did I crack finally?” Crowley asked. “My nightmares can’t even hold together anymore? Guess I don’t care, if you’re in this dream now.” 

He’s no stranger to this particular nightmare. It’s always as bad as the real thing had been, but this is the first time Aziraphale’s ever made and appearance. He’s not sure if that’s better or worse. His horrid, clenching, bruised heart certainly can’t tell him one way or the other. 

Aziraphale smiled, but his eyes were sad. Crowley almost couldn’t stand to look, but he kept on. 

“Let’s not stay here, my dear,” he said, soft as the new-fallen snow that glittered around his bare feet. He held out his hand. “Care for a walk in the park?” 

Crowley shrugged, but stood and took the offered hand. Aziraphale’s skin was cold, so cold he almost pulled away. Their next steps took them to St. James Park, the snow falling around them in fat flakes, coating the pond and trees and benches in serene white. It was quiet in the way snow always made everything quiet: peaceful, but in an eerie sort of way, like the whole world was holding its breath. 

“Oh, you look better already,” Aziraphale said. “Here, darling, let me see you.” He waved a hand and Crowley found himself in clean clothes, no holes burned in them, no soot staining his skin. The thin fabric did nothing to protect him from the chill, but he didn’t mind. Not with Aziraphale here, head resting on his shoulder, fingers tangled together, wing wrapped around them both as they walked. The air settled heavy in his lungs and the snow crunched softly beneath his shoes. It was grounding, despite the fact that it was all a dream. It could only be a dream. 

“Darling, do you think you’re ready to wake up now?” Aziraphale finally asked, that adorable sad, hopeful look lighting up his eyes and pulling down the corners of his mouth. 

Crowley missed a step and stumbled, trampling Aziraphale’s bare foot. He tightened his grip on Aziraphale’s hand, clinging for all he was worth. “I’m not leaving,” Crowley said. “If you’re here, I’m not leaving. I’ll sleep for the next century if I have to.” 

"Crowley -" 

"But you're here, Aziraphale. And I miss you." 

Aziraphale smiled, kindly, gently, the way one might before telling a child what happened to their pet goldfish. Crowley couldn’t take it. “Darling, I miss you terribly,” Aziraphale said. 

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said, his breath a whisper of word and mist materializing in front of him, “are you  _ actually _ here? In my dream?” 

“For the moment, yes. But I’m afraid it’s time to wake up.” 

The moment began to fade, blackness overtaking the edges of conscious thought. Crowley could feel the cotton sheets underneath his body. “Don’t leave me.” 

Aziraphale frowned. “Can you feel me holding your hand?” 

Crowley squeezed his hand, felt the cold flesh between his, as real as anything. “Yes.” 

“Let go,” Aziraphale said. 

“ _ No! _ ” 

“Please love,” Aziraphale said, “trust me. I’m with you now, in the waking world. Can you still feel me?” 

Crowley concentrated, loathe to let the moment, the dream go. But he could feel it, as real as anything, Aziraphale’s palm pressed against his own even as the wind and the snow started to fade away. 

“Yeah,” Crowley said, swallowing down the tears that threatened to choke him in his sleep. 

“Then let go.” 

Crowley didn’t have a choice in the end. The dream faded and he opened his eyes to the muted grey world of his bedroom. It was still frightfully cold, the light that should’ve been streaming onto his face filtered through heavy clouds as real snow fell from the real sky. He didn’t bother turning over. He knew what lay waiting for him, what had lain waiting for him for months - an empty bed, undisturbed save for his fingers tangled in the sheets, clinging so tightly to a ghost. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you hate me for ruining something so good and sweet with a truckload of angst, please feel free to remix or continue this work in the spirit of the ButterOmens event! Or, if you liked it and want to dig that knife in just a *liiiittle* deeper, feel free to continue this work, also. 
> 
> If you liked it, please let me know.  
> Feel free to leave a comment, a kudo, or come call me names on [tumblr](https://rosemoonweaver.tumblr.com/)!


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